


The One That I Miss

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 18:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4315122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Damian's birthday, and they all gathered to celebrate. All but one, anyway.</p>
<p>Or so they thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One That I Miss

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so…I got this prompt literally a year ago. I had hid it in my notes on my laptop and completely forgot about it, like a big ol’ dumb butt. I hope you’re still around, Anon! Or that you see this somehow. Haha, I am so sorry I took so long. I’m terrible, and I hope you enjoy this. Set not long after Damian’s resurrection. Dick coming home is Bruce’s gift to Damian. Despite being completely gen, the title and story tone is inspired by ‘The Longer The Waiting (The Sweeter The Kiss)’ by Anna Ternheim.

Damian sighed. “This is ridicu-”

“Deal with it.” Jason cut off, as he looped the party hat’s string around Damian’s cheeks, let it snap against the boy’s chin. “You know as well as anyone, we never have a whole lot to celebrate around here.”

“So please,” Cassandra added quietly. “Let us have this one?”

Damian pursed his lips, but didn’t continue the argument. They were right, after all. Victories were rare these days, and Damian’s resurrection was the most unlikely of them all. Not only did he return to his family, but he came back relatively unscathed and with _superpowers_ of all things.

It wasn’t his birthday. Not really. He ever really had one in the first place. But he let them refer to it was such. If it brought them some semblance of happiness, he wasn’t going to be the one to try and take it away. And anyway, according to Todd: “Trust me, kid. ‘Happy Birthday!’ rolls off the tongue _so much better_ than ‘Happy Resurrection Day!’”

They wanted a party. Old school, his father had quipped. Gifts, cake, decorations – the whole shebang. All the way down to Damian being disallowed to lift a finger. Not like that was any different from any other day. Outside of the tests for his meta abilities, he was treated as if he was fragile. Doted on and taken care of. Like a child. Like an invalid.

(It was only some days that he agreed with the diagnosis.)

So he watched. As Cain and Drake hung the banners, as Brown fiddled with the wrapped gifts on the table. As Todd situated party hats on everyone’s head just so. As his father attempted to help Pennyworth and Gordon set the food table, looking completely clueless.

He still felt it was too much. He wasn’t worth all this hassle. But he was too shy to admit it. Too shy to say that all he really wanted for his ‘birthday’ was all of them together. Too shy to say that he just wanted to be with his family.

Damian kept his lips quirked as he felt the rubber string drag along his flesh when Todd pushed his hat to the side. “You know,” Jason drawled. “If I put another hat on the other side, you’d almost look like a cat.”

Damian just rolled his eyes as Todd laughed at his own joke, and gave Damian’s hair a light ruffle.

“Oh, Jason, leave him be.” Stephanie chided, slapping the bigger man’s arm. Jason feigned hurt, rubbing at his bicep as he backed away. Stephanie chuckled, leaning against the arm of Damian’s chair. “So! You have any idea what everyone got you for your birthday?”

“No.”

“Think you got everything you asked for?”

“I didn’t _ask_ for anything.”

Stephanie sighed. “Well, surely you _wanted_ something.”

“I did, I suppose.” Damian permitted quietly, frowning as his hand absently reached up, as his fingers twirled around the string of his hoody – the one that he found in the bedroom his father had closed off. The one that _used_ to belong to his eldest brother, and what a terrible feeling that past tense created. “But I don’t think it’s going to be in any of those boxes.”

Stephanie caught the gesture, and the realization hit her harder than any punch. She exhaled, tilting her head sadly. Slowly, she reached out, pulled Damian into her side with an arm around his shoulders, and kissed his hair.

“You never know, D.” She whispered, squeezing his shoulder. “You just never know.”

“I think I can be fairly certain on this one.” Damian countered with a sour smile as he stood from the chair, going over to where Cassandra was beckoning the both of them.

The party went without a hitch from there. They held competitions in the yard – the highlight being the game of ‘who can lasso a flying Damian the fastest,’ where Jason cheated by hiding in a tree and tackling him into a bush – and opened gifts, which were all, surprisingly, incredibly thoughtful – art supplies from Drake, a series of books from the girls and new weapons from Todd.

When the sun began to set, Alfred called everyone into the dining room for food. Damian sat at the head of the table, blushing just slightly as everyone sang and Alfred lit the candles on the cake. The family talked then, and even laughed, as Alfred the cut the cake and Bruce handed out platefuls of pizza – vegetarian, of course.

And it was during this scene, that everything changed. It was during this moment that they all heard the telltale sign of the manor’s old front door opening. A loud squeak echoed through the hallway, followed by the muted slam of it closing.

Everyone looked amongst each other suspiciously. They were all here, so who…?

“Wait!” Stephanie tried. “Colin said he was going to try to make it, but he was going to be late…”

“He’s _ten_.” Tim droned. “He would have needed a ride. And I think the nuns would have called ahead of time.”

“Bruce?” Barbara tried, glancing towards the man. “Did any of the Supers say they were…”

“Hello?”

Everyone went silent at the voice ringing in the hallway. It was familiar, incredibly familiar, _terrifyingly_ familiar, and they all knew it. But it was impossible, because-

Jason and Cassandra glanced at each other before Jason narrowed his eyes at Bruce. Bruce, who seemed oddly calm about the stranger in his home. He was leaning back in his chair, the ghost of a smile crossing his face.

“What did you do.” Jason demanded. “What the fu-”

“Hello?” The voice repeated. Damian twisted so quickly towards the door he could have given himself whiplash. He glanced momentarily back at Stephanie, who mirrored his expression of hopeful fear, before clutching his chair’s armrests, in attempts to keep himself seated. Because he wanted to run out there, but he didn’t want to be wrong. He didn’t think he could handle it, if he was wrong. If this was all one big trick.

“Master Bruce…” Alfred mumbled in disbelief, but even he didn’t seem able to complete a thought.

They could all hear footsteps now, boots by the sound of it. As the steps got louder, got closer, everyone found themselves holding their breath.

And then finally, after what felt like a lifetime, a head popped around the doorframe. Dark hair cut short, but still somehow able to be fashionably messy. Bright blue eyes that seemed tired above a slight five o’clock shadow, twitching curiously around the room. When he saw it was occupied, that he found the right place, he smiled, stepping into the doorframe. He was in a simple outfit – boots, jeans, t-shirt and jacket – holding a small, childishly wrapped, gift box in his hand.

“Hey!” Dick Grayson greeted cheerfully. “Hope I’m not too late for the party.”

Everyone could only stare, mouths agape in shock. Everyone except for Bruce, who was chuckling softly.

“Sorry for the secrecy.” He said as an explanation. “I didn’t want you to ruin the surprise.”

Jason seemed to recover first, spinning around to stare accusingly at their father. “‘Ruin the surprise’?! You didn’t tell us that piece of shit was _alive_ because you wanted to surprise your freaking kid on his birthday?!”

The other children all began talking at once, confused and accusing as they called Bruce out on his antics. But Damian paid them no mind. He was still staring at Dick. Dick, who was still standing in the room’s entryway, who still had that stupid grin washing across his face as he met Damian’s gaze.

And as his siblings and friends continued to scold his father, began to shout and curse and carry on, all Damian could do was rise from his chair. Hesitantly stand and come around the corner of the table, Dick’s eyes on him the whole time.

And when those first few cautious seconds passed, when Damian realized that this was, in fact, real and true, he took off across the room, running so fast he felt himself completely leave the ground at one point.

He barreled into Dick’s torso so hard, the man had to drop the box and grab the wall to stop from falling over. Damian wrapped his arms around Dick’s abdomen as hard as he could, could hear Dick’s heartbeat speed up from the pressure, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t letting go, not _ever_ , and no one could make him.

Once Dick stabilized his balance, Damian felt him return the embrace. Just in the nick of time too, because Damian could feel his knees shaking, could feel them giving way, threatening to completely collapse under his weight.

Dick must have noticed, because he tightened his grip – if it were even possible – and held Damian as close as he could, just as he always had.

“Nice sweatshirt.” He commented into Damian’s hair. Damian just pressed further into Dick’s chest, closed his eyes to stop his tears as he felt his party hat slip off the back of his head. Dick snorted a warm laugh as Damian began to let out his quiet sobs.

“You’re not dead.” Damian cried. It was soft, but could be heard all around the room, as suddenly his family was no longer bickering. He could feel their eyes as they silently watched. “Grayson, you’re…you’re _not dead_.”

“Nope. I’m not.” Dick was smiling, Damian could both hear and feel it. He felt Dick’s hand smooth across his hair, a light kiss against his temple as he began to bawl harder. Dick’s breath brushed across Damian’s cheek, and a thumb wiped absently at his tears as he murmured. “Happy birthday, little brother.”


End file.
